


a storm that complained

by howlingheartdemigod (helpmeimstuckon)



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: F/F, Introspection, Pining, im working on some more it's chill, it was raining. and rain makes me write about this idiot, return of the heavy handed rain metaphors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2020-01-11 00:19:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18418913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helpmeimstuckon/pseuds/howlingheartdemigod
Summary: The night air smelled sweet with rain, the breeze cool, finally after days of terrible heat. Beau breathed it in, as the pattering woke her, face turning to the soft sound of drops hitting the ground, little tinks and pips making a quiet symphony of noises. She opened her eyes in the dark room, gaze searching the open window. Rain. A storm, maybe.-A storm wakes Beauregard in the night.





	a storm that complained

**Author's Note:**

> to be cross posted on tumblr  
> find me there at howlingheartdemigod
> 
> title from an atticus poem  
> "she was a storm that complained about the rain"

The night air smelled sweet with rain, the breeze cool, finally after days of terrible heat. Beau breathed it in, as the pattering woke her, face turning to the soft sound of drops hitting the ground, little tinks and pips making a quiet symphony of noises. She opened her eyes in the dark room, gaze searching the open window. Rain. A storm, maybe.  
The bed creaked as she sat up, and she glanced over, checking that she hadn't woken up Jester, across the room. The tiefling didn't stir, so Beau moved, slowly, to peer out the window above the lower half of her bed.  
It was dark. Small towns like this didn't have much reason to light up at night. Just a lantern on the inns door below them, beckoning travelers who need a light to guide them. She glanced around the room, small, sparsely decorated, but a safe place to sleep nonetheless. An acceptable lighthouse to dock at. She turned her gaze back outside, scanning the clouds. It was a beautiful night. The cool breezes the rain had traveled on was much kinder on Beau's skin than the dry heat they'd been traveling through the process few days. The clouds above head we're impossibility light. Like a thick snowfall, rain clouds had the ability to disperse light in a way that mystified Beau, turning the deepest blacks of the night sky into a patchwork of grey, lightest where the moon hid behind it. She watched the clouds a little, taking a breath. It was just rain, not a storm. And anyway, storms didn't guarantee Yasha’s return, just increased the likelihood.  
Beau was about to turn over, go back to sleep, when lightning flared across the sky. Beau's eyes lit up, and she quietly, almost noiselessly, started counting.  
"One... Two... Three... Four... Five... Six... Seven... Eight... Nine... Ten... Eleven..." _Crash_. The thunder chased the light, a drum in the sky. Beau's smile widened. She turned in the bed quietly, leaning against the foot board. It was a better view this way anyway. She watched the sky, hoping the light shown would continue. And it did.  
Another crack of lightning, and Beau counted again this time only reaching eight. The thunder sounding overhead caused her to lift her gaze, searching for a long gone source. Beau reached and grabbed her pillow, deciding it was best to stay with her head on this side of the bed for now. But watching the storm made her think, made her overthink, maybe.  
It always seemed... Big, what she felt for Yasha. Not in an always good way. It felt loud and brash. Felt like what she was good at, quick and lazy, no feelings no complications, just, _hey, you're hot, I'm hot, wanna do this thing._ For so long she'd been miffed and a little discouraged by Yasha's seeming disinterest. Now though, after standing at Zuala's grave, it all seemed to have settled. It wasn't stupid and young. Passion seeking passion. It wasn't about what Yasha’s body looked liked, it was about what her soul looked like. Yasha was her be all end all. The dream, not because she was beautiful, though she was, but because she was kind. She was caring. She was strong.  
And, Beau'd realized, standing with her hand on Yasha's shoulder as she let herself mourn, truly mourn, her love, that she didn't care if Yasha ever loved her back. It didn't matter. She knew that it would be just fine if Yasha never cared an it her at all, as long as she got to keep Yasha in her life.  
When the storm picked up, it happened all at once. Not the slow up and down rain liked to show off with, but a wave hitting the shore, then refusing to return to sea. She took a breath, a hand reaching out into the night, catching drops in her palm. She wished the rain would form something solid, something made of soft pale flesh, and bewitching eyes, and flowing hair. She wished the storm would bring Yasha back to her. It was a wish she knew not to count on, a wish not meant to be voiced, but regardless, it scrambled around her brain, searching for scraps of sentences to offer, for her to speak aloud into the night. Beau kept silent.  
The rain poured even harder, and a flash of lightning, blue white energy, arced across the sky. Beau held her breath and counted. One... Two... Three... Four- And there, thunder. She smiled a little, the heart of the storm was getting closer, no more than a few minutes off. She'd get to say hello.  
It had become a little ritual if hers, when Yasha was gone from them. If a storm passed by she'd say a quiet little hello to the heart of it, hoping the crashing thunder and sparkling lightning would pass the message along. So what if it didn't work like that. It made her feel better anyway.  
Beau fluffed her pillow, her head at the foot of the bed, and watched the clouds overhead slowly shifting, slowly dancing. She kept her eyes on them, and as the worst of it hit, she muttered her greeting, her quiet plea, in non exact words, for Yasha to be safe, to return, then, long after the heart of the storm had passed, she stayed up watching the rain, enjoying the clouds, thinking of Yasha. When Beau fell asleep with one hand stretched towards the window, raindrops hitting her fingertips she couldn't help but wish the air smelled a little more of worn leather, tasted a little more of magic, felt a little more like a homecoming.


End file.
